


Letters from T.H.

by Navy_Blue



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Getting Together, Letters, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Swearing, it's a bit all over the place time-wise from chapter to chapter, the chapters aren't complying with each other either tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 22:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12045201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navy_Blue/pseuds/Navy_Blue
Summary: Inspired by tumblr's fancy font. Thomas writes James notes:Chapter 1: Thomas and James go to a party. Fluff ensuesChapter 2: James gets stuck in a treeChapter 3: Thomas finds James's collection of T.H. notesChapter 4: London s2 get together (again?)Chapter 5: Thomas teaches James dancingChapter 6: A bit of T.H's diary (added 15/11/17)





	1. James. Come to a party. T.H.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: James has a box of notes from Thomas and reminisces about a not-so-bad-evening in London. Quite a lot of fluff. Oh and it goes without saying that post-series 4 they escape the plantation and set up a farm. obvs.

_James, my truest love. Remember to feed Betsy, I think she’s looking a little thin.  
Yours, T.H._

Thomas often left him little notes in the morning. He usually left for work at the accountants in Nassau before James was up and would write to remind James to buy something or do an odd job around the house. Unbeknownst to Thomas, James kept every single one. He used to keep them inside the front cover of his copy of Meditations, next to the Thomas’s old inscription, but now there were so many that James had to keep them in a box on his side of their small wardrobe, hidden from Thomas under some old blankets.

Sometimes he would look through them. The notes he had collected during their woefully short time together in England had seen James to hell and back but he had not been left unscarred by their years apart. Now they were together again, the notes Thomas left him seemed like small paper plasters, gently putting his heart back together, piece by piece.

He put Thomas' latest note in there, and dug around till he found their first. It had been written while they were still in England, before well everything really:

_James. I would like the pleasure of your company this Saturday. Miranda is away with her family and I will be all alone. That sounded less pathetic in my head, but I would so love an evening together with you._  
Yours T.H.  
P.S. you can send your reply with the footman. 

_Thomas. Yes, Saturday is suitable. Please tell Miranda I wish her and her family well. I look forward to our evening.  
James._

Even before their relationship, Thomas had signed his letters "yours, Thomas". It had struck James as a little forward for working partners but it made him smile to see those two words. He had agonised over the wording of his reply while the servant stood waiting. It scared James a bit; he was usually never lost for words, some might even call him blunt but with Thomas it was different. He never wanted to say or do the wrong thing but he also didn't quite know what the right thing was.

 

As it happened, he did enjoy their evening, it turned out to be one of his favourites. They had attended a meeting at the house of one of Thomas's Eton friends. There was a lively debate happening as their carriage drew up, and Thomas encouraged James to participate. To his surprise, many of the guests nodded appreciatively at James' small speech and a few came up to him after the talk to discuss his points. James noticed Thomas beaming at him while he explained his experience of pirate problems and class warfare to one particularly entitled Lady, and once the evening had finished Thomas spent most of the journey home declaring just how proud he was that James had spoken his mind. In truth, they were both a little drunk.

A few hours later they were sprawled on the sofas in Thomas's living room with empty glasses of port, decidedly less eloquent than they'd been at the beginning of the evening. James didn’t know when, but at some point there had been a change in the atmosphere in the room. The air grew thicker, they grew quieter, Thomas moved closer.

"James." Thomas began, breaking a lull in the conversation. He put a hand James's knee, "James," he sighed. James felt his heart beating in his chest when Thomas's eyes met his. 

Thomas took a deep breath in and exhaled loudly. "James" he said for a third time.

"What?" James had asked, sounding more annoyed than he meant to.

"I was just thinking… You were so good tonight." Thomas bowed his head, smiling.

“Good, my Lord?” James said, a little puzzled as to what Thomas was getting at.

Thomas apparently hadn’t heard him, and continued mumbling. “I was so proud of you, you know. I wanted to kiss you right then and there when you told that Lady whoever what you thought of her ideas about the poor.” 

“Well, she obviously hadn’t had much experience with ‘the poor’ and oh- “ He realised what Thomas had said. He felt his cheeks burn.

Thomas wouldn’t meet his eyes. He hadn’t been secretive about his ‘preferences’ as they referred to it but James had never let himself hope those feeling extended to him. Thomas was a lord, he was his employee, he never thought-

 

James had never seen Thomas lost for words. A silence fell around them. James remembered Thomas's hand was still on his knee, it was quite a firm grip really, deliberately still there. His mind brought up memories of the subtle nudges, of Thomas standing so close their arms touched, of him putting a hand on James shoulder close to his neck so his thumb ran through James hair. The memory of the heat from Thomas palm warmed the back of James’s neck.

Thomas seemed to have the same thought and his face turned down as he pulled his hand away.

"Never mind,” Thomas said, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry I think the evenings’ entertainments have quite worn me out. I- uh- I’ll be off to bed." He made to stand up but James, acting almost instinctively, reached out to stop him. He pulled Thomas hand and Thomas fell back onto the sofa. He reached out to smooth a tuft of blond hair, sticking up from being parted by Thomas’s fingers. He thought he felt Thomas lean in to his touch but as he withdrew his hand he saw Thomas's eyes watching him with an expression he couldn’t make sense of.

"Please, speak you mind, Thomas." He said. But the other man just looked down at him with through low eyelids. James mind went blank as he felt Thomas shift towards him and he closed his eyes.

And then their lips met and James thought everything at once. First overwhelming happiness and then an icy wave of panic as he realised just what was happening. Was Thomas just too drunk? Was he? Would either of them regret it? He moved back slightly but Thomas's hand went to his cheek and it was so soft and careful James could feel himself becoming lost in it all.

Second or days passed, James honestly wasn't sure. He felt Thomas’s mouth part under his lips and he thought he might pass out from sheer joy.

It was Thomas to broke away first. "I didn't know if you wanted..." He mumbled quietly. Their foreheads touching and Thomas's eyes were closed.

"I did, I do." Answered James.

They went to bed together, James borrowed one of Thomas' nightshirts and they laughed at how ridiculous the long sleeves were on James. He fell asleep with Thomas pressed along the length of his body behind him, one arm wrapped around his waist and their legs intertwined.

The next day he saw his note to Thomas on the kitchen table and pocketed it. He thought himself a bit silly for doing it but he thought one day he shall look back at this and remember it all. He couldn't help but imagining showing Thomas the note. Maybe they'd be somewhere together in their old age and they’d laugh about how nervous and unsure they’d both been...

 

James sighed as he put the note back in the box. He was wearing one of Thomas' nightshirts, rumpled from sleep. It wasn't as fine cotton as the ones they used to have but the sleeves were still to long for James and it still made Thomas giggle every time he saw it.


	2. James. Don't get stuck in the trees. T.H.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local fluff peddler writes more fluff: Thomas warns James of the dangers of wet grass, will James take any notice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most adventurous moment in our heroes' lives, but nice nonetheless. Also I love the idea of Thomas fully peacing out of England and helping the pirate business in Nassau.

_James, my truest love. The grass is still wet. Mind if you use the ladder today.  
Yours T.H._

James felt the mattress shift next to him as Thomas stood up. The grandfather clock he’d gotten Jack to procure for him from an English merchant ship chimed seven o’clock.

“Mmm ‘s not time for work already.” He groaned. The bed next to him was losing its heat as Thomas pulled on a robe and went to make himself breakfast.

“Not for you, dear. Go back to sleep.” Called Thomas from the kitchen. 

James dozed for a few minutes, listening to Thomas clatter about with pans and mugs. He was happy Thomas had found work. After making a hasty escape from the plantation they had moved between odd bits of work here and there to fund their trip back to New Providence island. In total, it had taken them about a year to get to the island, and another year to repair the abandoned house they now called home to a habitable state. They settled close enough to Nassau that Thomas could work in the town, and far enough away that they wouldn’t be the subject of too much gossip. A few people recognised James, but no one ever mentioned his past. He imagined John had warned them against that.

Thomas had originally only been given a few hours a week at the accountancy offices, somewhat out of pity. They both turned up on New Providence looking rather scruffy after a year on the road. But gradually, as they settled, Thomas regained his air of upper-class dignity and he proved himself an invaluable member of the firm and he now worked four full days. The money he earned, and the money they took in from selling what they grew on their farm, gave them a comfortable existence in their small house on the hill. It certainly wasn’t anywhere near the luxury of their lives in London but neither could have cared less about that.

James felt the mattress dip as Thomas lent over to plant a kiss on his forehead and ruffle his hair before he left. James tried to pull Thomas back down, but Thomas smiled affectionately down at him and stood up.

“I'm sorry, I have to go to work. I’ll be back a little later tonight. We’ve got a new client landing today and there’s a lot of papers to sort out.” Thomas explained. A ‘new client’ generally meant they were making up a cover story for a large pirate haul. A few months ago, Jack had plundered a large merchant ship, and Thomas had spent a week at the office making the necessary documents to divide up the prize into convincing sellable lots. The traders seemed happy enough with the legitimacy of the papers and Thomas had brought home enough money to _finally_ fix the roof of the farm’s store shed.

“M’kay, I’ll see you later then.” James mumbled, still half asleep. In the beginning, he had found it difficult to sleep with Thomas away. They had spent so long together on the road that having Thomas leave him every day, even for work, made him a little uncomfortable. Now he knew the routine though, he knew Thomas would come back, and he felt a little silly for ever imagining otherwise.

He lay in bed for a while, reading and dozing until he heard Betsy mewing at the foot of the bed.

“You’re a bloody menace,” he said affectionately, while tickling her under her chin. 

He stretched and stood up, looking out of the window in their bedroom. The sky was clear and even though it was still quite early the sun was beating down. Today was to be the first day of the peach harvest. They had a few orders from traders off the island and James knew he should start filling the crates if he wanted to get everything done before the rains started coming in earnest.

As he went into the kitchen, he saw Thomas’s latest note, reminding him to be careful on the ladder if he did decide to start harvesting. He smiled, of the two of the he was definitely the more agile and coordinated; years on pitching ships had taught him how to keep his footing. He ran his fingers over the rough indents in the paper, where Thomas had been hasty with his quill, and put the note in the box with the others and went to get the ladder.

As it happened, Thomas was right. The grass between the trees was slick with rain from the night before and James nearly lost his footing a couple of times. He managed to fill a half dozen crates before lunch time. He continued into the afternoon, reaching climbing further into one of the taller trees, until his foot moved something. He heard a rustling of leaved and a loud thud beneath him. His heart sank. He saw the ladder lying flat on the ground.

He cursed loudly. The trees had been left on the abandoned plot of land well before James and Thomas had found it, and had not been tended to, growing tall and wild. He was at least ten feet off the ground and didn’t fancy his chances jumping onto the wet grass with his joints. He sat on a wide bough, looking up at the sun. It must have been about four in the afternoon, Thomas would be home soon enough- ah, except he was working late. Fucking brilliant, he thought. _God, Thomas is going to love this_ , he groaned at the thought of Thomas, finding him stuck up a tree like a lost cat.

He tried hooking the ladder with branches he broke off the tree, but only succeeded in pushing it further away. Eventually he lay on the bough and thought that since he was going to be there a while, he might as well have a peach. He wondered how long it would be before Thomas returned; the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon and it was getting cold and he was only wearing his thin cotton shirt.

Thomas returned a little while later. He looked at James for a second and burst out laughing, bending over and clutching his sides at the sight of James, discarded branches and the ladder beneath him.

“Lovely to see you too.” James quipped.

“How long- have- you been- up there?” Thomas asked between peals of laughter “Didn’t- you see- my- note?”

“Yes. I got it. Thank you dear.” James replied. “ _Please_ could you pass me the ladder? It’s getting a bit chilly up here.” His hands and feet were beginning to feel a little numb.

It took Thomas a moment to be able to stand up straight, and James saw tears of laughter sparkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, but really, you should see yourself. You look like Betsy did the time she got stuck on the roof.”

“Oh thanks,” James rolled his eyes, but smiled. He imagined he really did look quite the idiot. Maybe he should actually take notice of what Thomas wrote in those notes, he thought.

Thomas set the ladder against the tree and James clambered down, his legs aching a bit from sitting for so long. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside, your hands are freezing,” Thomas said, wrapping his coat around James’s shoulders.

Once inside, Thomas sat him down and lit the fire. James heard him filling the kettle with water and after a few minutes he brought over two steaming mugs of tea. James felt the warmth returning to his extremities as Thomas put an arm around him. He felt Thomas stifle another chuckle as he lay he head on Thomas’s chest and drifted off to Thomas explaining his day’s dealings with the pirates.


	3. James. I found your letter collection. T.H.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finds the notes. It's angst city

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm yeah no this one doesn't actually have a note. However, I spent the summer moving out house and sorting through all the stuff my family inherited over the years and turns out I come from a family of hugely sentimental ppl who never. throw. anything. away. and i live for it. Old family stuff is wonderful and James and Thomas get to start a collection of junk for the future Flint-Hamiltons to sort through

“Could you fetch an old blanket please. I think Betsy looks a little cold,” James asked him. 

“Cold? She has fur, I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Thomas, looked at her. She’s so small, poor thing. Please?”

Thomas sighed loudly but he was pleased James had gotten over his initial jealously of Thomas’s affection towards the small kitten and had begun to fawn over her in the same was he did.

Thomas sifted through a chest of clothes and blankets, looking for one small enough for the cat. His fingers brushed something hard and well hidden in the back corner. The box was quite large, it looked like an old jewellery box or a small writing chest. He’d never seen it before but it was locked and he couldn’t open it to examine it further.

“James, what’s this?” 

Thomas heard the scrape of chair legs as James jumped up from his place in the kitchen. James’s eyes were fixed on the box as he strode towards Thomas.

“Nothing. That’s- nothing. You should put it back.” James said, reaching down to take it from him. It was a bit odd, James being so protective towards it, he thought.

“Well now, you’ve intrigued me.” Thomas replied, moving to dodge James’s outstretched hands. The movement threw James off balance and he fell to the floor, hand connected with the box and it crashed to the floor, splitting open.

Much to his confusion, paper fluttered around Thomas’s ankles. He had half expecting the box to contain some long-forgotten bit of pirate treasure or maybe some grisly memento of one of Captain Flint’s conquests, a finger perhaps, but not scraps of paper. He picked one up, it was a note he’d left for James a few weeks ago, reminding him to pick up sugar when he went into town. The others were notes too, all Thomas’s. He’d kept them. All of them, by the looks of it. James had never been one for sentiment or really showing much emotion towards anything really, and it moved Thomas to think of James collecting these notes and saving them. 

“Oh James,” he smiled down affectionately at James who was now sitting on the floor, surrounded by notes looking thoroughly displeased.

“Please, we can forget it. I’ll get rid of them.”

“Get rid of them? Whatever for?”

“Well, it _is_ a bit odd isn’t it, keeping all of these.” James replied, looking at the floor.

Thomas thought for a moment, “No. No, you _should_ keep them. I just didn’t realise you were so sentimental.”

He looked at James’s sad smile and knew what the other was thinking. They didn’t have a lot, well, anything, from their previous lives; there wasn’t a lot to be sentimental over. All had been lost when he and James had been taken from each other and James hadn’t been able to save anything from his days as Flint. Everything they owned had been bought or built after their escape from the plantation. There was a lot Thomas didn’t want to remember about his past, a lot he was trying to forget, but sometimes he longed for the reassuring muddle of his family’s houses. There were full of ‘old things’, as he called them. Silly knick-knacks from a great-aunt, family heirlooms, bits of furniture, books and paintings that all seemed to instill in him a sense of stability. His family had collected these things over the years; through wars and changing monarchs, and misery and joy, they had established a legacy. He liked to see his family tree laid out for him in all those things they had passed down. When he was young, he liked to imagine what future Hamiltons would say about the things he had added to their collection, what stories they would tell about him.

He wondered what they’d say about him now.

“Thomas?” 

“Wait there.” Thomas left the room and headed for the shed. Under a stack of crates, well hidden from James he had his own box of secrets. 

He went back to the bedroom, James had sat down on the bed and he sat next to him. He placed the box in his hands. It was smaller than the one James had, a little scruffy and scratched but he watched James hold it as if it were the most delicate object he'd ever held in his hands.

“My dear, you’re not the only sentimental old man in this house. But I don’t think you’ll enjoy these letters. If you don’t want to read them, please do not, but I feel it right that I should show you them.”

James looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What do you-“

“Just have a look, James.” And he left the room again, quickly.

The box was full of letters too. But James had never received these. Thomas had written them, in secret, in which ever prison England decided to place him. He had stolen paper and pencils from the physicians at Bedlam and had hidden the notes in cracks in the wall under his bed. Even in that hell, the thought of James reading his words one day had filled him with hope and allowed him to refuse to be broken by that place. He had thought of finding a sympathetic guard, or an inmate with a connection to the outside world to smuggle the letters out. Just doing something to keep him from facing the apparent reality that he was never going to see James again.  
He had done the same in the plantation until James had arrived and rescued him. When they left, he decided to take the letters. If nothing else, they served to remind him that he was only able to hide them in his shed because he had survived every ghastly moment they detailed, and he had escaped. The two boxes of letters were the starting point for whatever collection of ‘old things’ he and James would gather. 

James emerged from the bedroom, a little red eyed and sniffing. He put his arms around Thomas and his head on his chest. When they were first reunited, it had delighted Thomas to find James was still short enough that his head still rested just under his chin. 

They stayed silent for a moment. Thomas closed his eyes and let himself breath in the smell of James’s hair and feel James’s arms around him. When he did speak, James spoke so quietly Thomas almost didn’t hear it.

“Thomas, are you sure we should keep them? Don’t you want to start again, without all of that?”

Thomas smiled, he had asked himself the same questions. “I thought so, but I’m never going to forget what has happened, with or without the letters. And those letters kept me going, they kept me sane. And it seems to me that if I got rid of them, I’d only be left with the bad. I write you letters because I want you to know I love you, and I loved you then. I’m not getting rid of that. Whatever someone finds of us in the future, I want them to know we survived, we won.”


	4. James. We're going to be alright. T.H.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Life to Come (The Killers), I present to you another get together fic!! There is a note, technically, so I guess it belongs in this work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't see this coming, I admit it/But if you think I'll buckle forget it.  
> Through fields of amber we will run/Somewhere in the life to come.  
> Just dropkick the shame.
> 
> (The phrase dropkick comes from the 1800s according to a brief google so I did not get to include it. Sad times. Also lmao@that attempt at historically accurate speech..)

James ran up the stairs to his attic rooms, stumbling a few times. His mind was racing and he could feel his legs weak under him. He locked the door firmly and sank to the floor trying to muffle his sobs in his jacket sleeve lest his landlady hear. There was no answer he could give to her to explain himself.

 _Shit **shit**. What have I done._ He started blankly at the grey wall on the opposite side of the room, breathing heavily. This was it, his life over. And for what? For one silly infatuation. For a second’s release of his self-control. _Fuck_. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, but in the dark all he could see was Thomas’s face, his warm smiling eyes and a blush high on his cheeks as he laughed as James’s words. The image grew closer as James leaned in and he remembered their lips meeting and-

James felt his stomach lurch. 

He’d fled a few moments later, not daring to look at Thomas. What would the Lord do? Another man was bad, but a man he knew had slept with his wife, and a man several social rungs below him. James knew Thomas and Miranda’s marriage was unorthodox but it surely didn’t extend to that. And yet, he’d tried it. There was nothing he could do to let go of the shame he felt welling up inside him and he sat for a few minutes, letting himself give into the despair.

The rain started to hammer against the sloped roof above his head as he stood up. With deliberate slow movements, he began to pack. _I can leave, I can get on a ship tonight and leave. I just have to go._ He began to formulate a plan. He knew there was a ship leaving in the early hours of the morning; he had heard the Admiral mention that voyage to the Bahamas a few days ago. Maybe if Thomas hadn’t told anyone yet, he’d have enough time to convince the Captain to let him board. He could say it's part of his work, it'd be fine. No one would hear of what happened until they returned from the voyage, a few months maybe, long enough for James to escape properly. He could go north to Boston or find somewhere on one of the islands, perhaps. The enormity of his situation swept over him again and he sat on the edge of his bed, his mind reeling.

A sharp knock on the door snapped his attention. Another lurch in his stomach stopped him from standing. Surely Thomas couldn’t have told anyone so soon?

“James, please, it’s awfully cold out here.” Miranda’s clear high voice called to him from the hallway. 

_Miranda,_ he thought, _if Thomas has told Miranda then he’s probably had time to tell others, maybe he’s already sent word to the Admiral-_

“Ahem, James. Open the door. I know what happened between you two; I have a note from Thomas. Please, it’s not as bad as you think.” Miranda’s voice was calm and steady, she sounded more annoyed at the dismal weather than she did at him.

James’s thoughts had been of gallows, courts, and Thomas’s face full of disgust. He couldn’t see how the reality of his situation could be much different. 

Silently he unlatched the door. 

He glanced at Miranda’s face, soft and kind, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Oh, you really are a fool, aren’t you Lieutenant. Here, Thomas wanted to give you this in person but I imagine you’d have run a mile if you heard him outside your door.” She glanced at the bag of his belonging on the bed. “Looks like you were planning to run anyway?”

“I, uh- please. I am so _so_ -,” being lost for words was not something that happened often to James, “I'm sorry. I'm ashamed. I don’t know what came over me. Please-“ 

“Lieutenant, remember, I fell for Thomas too. I understand what it is to spend time in his presence. I understand. Just please, read the letter.” Miranda pressed a small piece of parchment into his hands and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

James stared at the sealed paper. Miranda hadn’t sounded upset, she was positively reassuring. But how could she be so calm, he thought. Even if Thomas was like James in his desires, and James barely dared himself to entertain the thought, he was still her husband. There was so much for all of them to lose.  
He opened the note, his hands shaking a little. 

_James,_  
_I will admit, this was not my intent in hiring you as my liaison and quite honestly, I did not expect this. But I’m going to run away for this, from you or us, you are mistaken. Let go of the blame; it's not yours to bear alone._  
_I wanted to as much as you did._  
_T.H._

It was there, in Thomas’s elegant handwriting; he wanted this to, he wanted James. James felt weak at the knees again, but he did not feel the panic in his gut. He found himself pulling on his coat and making his way down the stairs, but he wasn’t going to a ship and he wasn’t going to run away.

 

Thomas was sitting silently in his study, mulling over the events of the evening, when he heard a knock. 

“My Lord, Lieutenant McGraw has returned to see you, sir.” The maid sounded as surprised at the arrival of James as Thomas was.

“Thank you, come in Lieutenant.”

James looked flushed and a bit out of breath. Loose strands of copper hair were lying flat against his temples and his coat was soaked through. 

“You got my message then? You surely didn’t run here in this weather?”

“Yes, I- I had to. I’m sorry- for my behaviour- and I- You said-“ the Lieutenant was panting heavily.

“James, please sit for goodness sake, and put your coat next to the fire to dry.”

He watched James remove his coat and jacket. the thin white shirt underneath was damp and stuck to his chest. Thomas let his eyes wander over James’s broad shoulders. After everything that had happened, it seemed silly to deny himself this pleasure for the sake of keeping up appearances. _God how could I have been so obvious and he so oblivious?_ He thought as he saw James watching him.

“So, James,” he cleared his throat; this was not conversation he had prepared to have with his liaison, “I suppose I could begin. Um, what I said in the note Miranda gave you, I meant it.” He studied James’s face. He always gave so little away it was infuriating; his features were always carefully arranged whenever they spoke, neither happy not sad, not too eager nor too indifferent. One of the navy’s many lessons in propriety no doubt.

“So what does that mean for- us, my Lord?” James’s mouth contorted around ‘us’ as if he had not meant to arrive at such an intimate word, and he bowed his head to avoid Thomas’s eyes.

“James, I think you can call me Thomas now.” He replied with a small chuckle. “And it means you can uncover your face, I quite like it, you know. I don’t like to see you hiding in shame like that. I know it’s not easy to let it go, dear, but we seem to be on the same page with regards to us.”

He watched as James rose slowly from the low chair, their eyes still not quite meeting. He let James place his arms around his waist, his hands were warm, despite the rain still soaking his clothing, and his touch was sure and steady. 

“I want this. As much as you. I really do” James’s breath was hot on Thomas’s neck.

This kiss was not like the last. Where quick lips and barely-there touches had flitted over Thomas’s face, so fast he was half convinced he had dreamt it, James was now slow and deliberate, arching his neck up to meet Thomas. A hand at his waist and the back of his neck pulled him closer to James. And when he pulled on James’s lip and heard the quiet moan it elicited, he thought he could die happy then and there.

 

A few weeks later, he awoke to an empty bed. James was already awake and staring out of the window to the streets below. He looked lost in thought.

“Hmm, what are you thinking?”

“I was imagining you and I lying in a field, far away from here.” James replied slowly, smiling at the image, “One day, I want to leave this place, for good, not just on a trip with a return journey. It’s so bloody grey and cold, and everyone seems to watch us. I’ll leave the navy and the sea and be somewhere warm and alone with you.” He turned to look at Thomas. 

“That sounds just lovely.” And it was Thomas’s turn to smile.

He stood up from the bed, next to James. He looked down at the coppery hair and sea green eyes and his heart swelled his affection. As he made to put an arm around James, he noticed the other man move away slightly. 

“It’s ok, we’re safe here for now, the maids are all downstairs at this time.” He put his forehead on James’s temple and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of the sea and sleep and James.

James turned to him, their foreheads touching and kissed his nose. 

"I hope, somewhere in life to come, we'll be safe always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it the best writing ever? No but I had my first day back at uni and my brain is done. Woo final year!


	5. James. You suck at dancing. T.H.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James can't dance, Thomas decides to teach him. Fluff, cos what else could possibly happen.

_James, Miranda says you stood on her foot last night. We need fix your dancing. See you tonight at eight p.m. T.H._

 

James rolled his eyes at the note he found stuffed through his letterbox, presumably by some poor footman sent out in the rain. His dancing wasn’t that bad; the navy wasn’t exactly renound for their dancing lessons, nor did it provide many opportunities for lowly officers to attend balls where dancing would be required, but it wan't terrible. Yes, maybe he had stepped on Miranda’s foot once or twice, and let her lead, but- he sighed. Maybe his dancing was a bit shit.

 

“Ah James, I hope you’ve brought your dancing shoes!”

“My what?” There were specific shoes for dancing? The aristocracy baffled him sometimes.

“Um no, it was a joke- uh, never mind.” Thomas was raising his eyebrows and shaking his head at him, but he had a smile in his eyes. “Follow me, we shall make a gentleman of you yet.”

“Is Miranda coming?”

“No. I thought it better I teach you, she wanted her toes to remain intact for a little while longer.” Thomas guided him to the study.

The room was small and there didn’t look much room for movement, but Thomas pushed the desk to the side of the room and gathered up the papers and books that were strewn across the floor. 

“Right, that’s a bit better.” He moved closer to James. Maybe it was the small room, or the warm light from the evening’s few remaining lit lamps but the dancing lesson seemed a lot more intimate than James had imagined when he set off for the Hamilton’s residence that afternoon.

“So, to begin: posture. Chin up, shoulders back, and put your arms like this,” Thomas positioned James’s shoulders and chin, and demonstrated how James should hold his arms; one arm crooked to hold Thomas’s waist, the other outstretched to his side. James let himself be maneuvered, glancing up to see Thomas’s blond hair illuminated by the lamps behind him. He looked positively angelic.

He stepped into James’s open arms and adjusted them a bit. “Perfect,” he said, smiling down at James, “We count in fours, and start on this foot.” 

He felt Thomas nudge his left foot with his shoe and forgot for a moment what he was supposed to do. Then Thomas began, and pulled him gently this way and that, guiding him around the small room. There was enough distance between them for Thomas to look down and observe James’s rather pitiful attempt at gentlemanly footwork. He was relieved they were not standing closer, even though it made it difficult for him to know which was Thomas was going to turn. He thought Thomas would by now be able to feel the heat radiating from his blushing cheeks. He silently thanked whichever servant had decided to lower the lights in the room.

“Argh, my toe!” Thomas’s cry startled him. He had been absorbed in his own thoughts and hadn’t remembered to concentrate on not harming his dance partner.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, my Lord. Are you alright? I’m not very good at this. Maybe we should stop.”

“Nonsense Lieutenant, you just need a little practice. Remember I’m leading, so just follow me.”

“Bit difficult to know where you’re going when you’re staring at my feet the whole time” James mumbled.

Thomas looked up from the floor. Even in the low light his eyes were a brilliant blue, bluer than any ocean James had sailed. He thought he held the gaze a little too long - Thomas ducked his head and cleared his throat, though he waa still smiling - but in this small dimly lit room where it was just he and Thomas, he felt like none of that mattered.

Thomas sighed. “Fine, we’ll dance properly then.” 

James felt Thomas pull them together, bodies just about touching, and they set off once more. 

 

Without the gap between them, James found his face rather close to Thomas. He could hear the counting in his ear, the warm breath tickling his neck. He tried to settle on a place to look, off to the side, trying to avoid staring into Thomas’s eyes again. 

“For all your talk of me looking at my feet, you’re doing a fine job of staring into the distance yourself. I’m not sure you’re even listening to me count anymore.” There was a chuckle in Thomas’s voice.

“Forgive me, this was not exactly part of Navy training.” 

“Well, maybe there are things I can teach you that they cannot.” The glint in Thomas’s eyes from the flames and his low voice made it sound more suggestive than perhaps it was meant to, but James saw his eyes dart to his lips.

There was a moment of silence where neither of them moved. He sensed Thomas’s hesitation and unclasped their still outstretched hands. A look of confusion, possibly hurt, flashed over Thomas’s face. _Ha! Did he really think I was going to leave_ , thought James. He pulled at the taller man’s collar, arching his own neck, bringing them to eye level. Thomas leaned in to meet him.

The kiss was short but enough. With their mouths pressed together, he felt Thomas's delicate fingers trailing along his jawline and settling on his shoulders. He felt Thomas’s smile bloom under his own lips and they started laughing. 

“I don’t feel like you’re dancing will have improved any, if this is how we are to spend these lessons.” Thomas said. 

“I can live with that.”

“Hmm, maybe poor Miranda and her feet might have something to say about it.”

“Maybe, not if I had a different partner though.”

Thomas bowed his head slightly, but it wasn’t enough to hide the blush on his cheeks and his wide grin.

They tried to continue the dance but it was all rather halfhearted. James settled for resting his head against Thomas’s chest and they moved together in slow circles, mostly just swaying in the end. In the comfortable silence that surrounded them in the study, he could hear Thomas’s heart beating steadily. He was sure that even with Thomas’s chin against his temple, Thomas would be able to hear his racing heartbeat.

Thomas’s arms moved up around his shoulders, hands clasped around his back, holding him close and he kissed the top of James’s head. Were he allowed, James thought, he could stay like that forever. 

 

Years later James would find himself being led round a small wooden kitchen in Thomas’s arms, who maintained he was an excellent teacher and it was his student’s fault he had not actually learned to dance during those lessons all that time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i posted a thing separate to this work that was angsty n i got sad, so wrote I wrote something a bit silly and happy. i hope you enjoy.


	6. James. Here is my diary. T.H.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post meeting, pre-relationship. Thomas has ~feelings~ and writes them down.

_James,_

_Miranda asked me over dinner what I wish to tell you, well not you as she does not know yet of the affections I hold for you, but to the one who has been occupying my mind of late. She suggested I put my thoughts in writing, so as to dispel them from my mind. And so I write this to you James, in my diary, even though I know it unlikely you will ever see this, but I write in the hope that it allows me to say all these things to you one day._

_Before you read anymore, James, you must know that my apprehension towards telling you the sentiments contained in this writing does not stem from any shame on my part, nor would I fear your reaction. I am instead weary of the world around us, and the consequences of words such as these:_

_My dear James, I cannot place when I first loved you, as time before that moment seems immaterial. My life, it seems, started when you greeted me on the steps of Whitehall and I would not wish it any other way. The time we have spent together has woken from a sleep I did not know I was sleeping, and has brought me into the world anew. I will treasure the moments I am allowed to spend with you. Were we to sit in my study in perfect silence for a week, no doubt I would count it as the happiest week of my life and I believe it clear to you too, that our feelings towards one another have surpassed those of liaison and Lord. I have seen in your eyes when you look at me what many must see in mine when I gaze upon you. But to say those words is to cross a line beyond which lies ahead uncharted waters, for the both of us. And you know, dear James, I am sadly prone to sea-sickness._

_The irony is not lost on me, that we work to bring civilisation to those considered so wretched and base, but were anyone to discover my true feelings towards my liaison, I would likely be sent to that desperate corner to join those cast out by the civilisation for we are fighting. And I confess, I have dreamt of the two of us sailing away to some far-flung place to live in peace. But that, as you might say, is as impossible as curing illiteracy in Nassau._

_Those nights when I dream of you, James, are my happiest nights. I dream of us having so much more than we do now; I see a place where I am allowed to lose myself in your eyes and kiss every freckle the sun has blessed you with. I dream of the taste of sea salt on your skin and how it has made your arms strong and your skin rough. And I long to feel all of you and to kiss you and hold you in my arms until the world ends around us._

_Those mornings when I wake, and see you are not next to me are my saddest, and I fear as my affection for you only grows, I am to wake more often than not with a heavy heart._

_If there ever is a day when we are together and free, know than that I am happy. Until that day, I imagine my heavy heart will feel much as it does in this moment, lightened only by the sight of you at my side on those all too rare occasions when we are permitted to be alone and together._

_If you ever read these words, know they are as true on that day as they are on this. You are my truest love._

_Yours,_

_T.H._

* * *

James traced the lines of ink with his index finger, as he used to trace the line of Thomas’s jaw, and the furrows around his eyes when he smiled. 

“He wanted you to read it.” Miranda stood next to him with a hand on his back, steadying him. Although he had not asked for it, she seemed to know how the words would affect him. He could hear Thomas’s soft voice reading them out to him in his mind. “He tore it out of his diary and told me to pass it on to you. He wanted you to know.”

Talking about Thomas itself did not hurt James, but the past tense Miranda spoke in stung him. Every day he could feel her moving on from their lives in London but he couldn’t bear to join her in her search to reorient herself. He would always be facing into the dark that Thomas had lit up. His own sunlight.

He slipped the pages into his jacket and left without a word. He had a war to win.

* * *

He found Thomas lying in the sun on the grass outside their small cottage. It was a bit damp and didn’t have any furniture, but it was the first time in a decade that James had felt _home_. Thomas was writing in his diary and gave James a raised eyebrow as he walked over.

“It’s rude to read other people’s diaries dear. Has piracy stripped you of all your manners?” Thomas quipped, pretending to hide the diary in his coat.

“Well, you did give me your diary to read, remember?” 

“So I did,” he replied, smiling. The lines around his eyes were deeper than James had remembered them, and he touched them with a gentle finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had plans to make this sad but tbh I've had a really good day so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This is a letter.. i guess.. idk i just like imagining thomas's handwriting.


End file.
